Trident
by CapturetheFinnick
Summary: This is the story of how a fourteen-year-old boy became a victor.
1. Before the storm

**_CHAPTER ONE_**

_The sunlight drifted through the window, revealing the dust in the crisp air. The illumination danced around on the furniture, targeting the wicker chair and then moving on to victimise wooden wardrobe. The whole affair looking a lot like an angel flying impatiently. Yet there was a strange sort of beauty to the way the sunlight shook. It was a twisted kind of beauty, but wasn't everyone a bit twisted really? The wardrobe alone could have set off a whirlwind of memories in Finnick's head... but there was no time for that. He had to get up. Finnick struggled to leave the warmth and security of his bed, the room made him feel at peace and gave him a state of utter calmness; from the curtains moving softly in the light breeze coming from the window to subtle glow of the room, not to bright so as to burn his eyes but neither too dark so that he could not see. The room smelt of salt and fresh air; it was going to be another sunny day Finnick thought. _

_He slowly sat up, his eyes darting to his parent's bed which was situated right next to his. His house only had three small rooms, just the bare necessities. A modest bathroom, a kitchen and one bedroom, his family was a far cry from the wealthy capitol citizens. Where his parents were was usually a clear indicator of where he was supposed to be. Finnick did not own a clock nor had any real sense of time, but if his parents were gone it was most certainly time to go. Noting this, he jumped out of bed leaving just enough time to quickly pull his patched shorts on, district four was no place to linger._

_Even as he scampered across the deep oak floor he could feel his limbs aching. He shook it off, he was fourteen now; he told himself, he could handle a little manual labour. Still his arms felt like someone was stabbing him repeatedly. He approached the top of the stairs and somewhat hesitantly he ran down, his footsteps echoing. He had to tell himself the pain of running would be nothing compared to if he was late. He didn't have any time to eat, not that they had much and Finnick still hadn't gotten used to the idea of chewing fish at five in the morning. So, with no food in his stomach he ran out the white-washed front door with just enough time to see the sun rise. Although they had no money Finnick's family still liked to take pride in their house. One thing they were the most proud of was the luscious landscape surrounding the dwelling. Finnick's house was situated right on a breath-taking beach, each dot of sand so remarkable individually and yet together they had the power to form a real visual masterpiece. Teamed with the waves rolling onto the sand, the sight was hard to beat. Upon the waves stood small white boats laden with carefully woven nets and hand crafted tools. Surrounding the sea were cliffs, the whiteness of the rocks contrasting against the deep blue of the sea. This scene wouldn't have looked out of place in a painting. Unfortunately, Finnick didn't have time to admire his hometown; he had seen it plenty of times anyway. He was already dashing down the beach, his feet kicking up ripples of sand as he went. _

_He made it just in time, skidding into the back of the queue. In front of him stood around ten men waiting to get on the final boat. Their ages ranged from ten to sixty. All of the men were heavily tanned, though their skin glowed not with the beauty of health but rather with the sense of exposure to the sun's rays. All of the men wore simple draw string shorts, all various shades of beige and all of them were heavily muscled. Most of the men had brown hair. Not Finnick though, Finnick had a full head of blonde hair, the colour of sunlight at the brightest point of the day. Finnick's features were chiselled and well defined; some said pure evidence of a creator, as how could such a face be an accident? His eyes were a bright green, the sort of green that commandeered attention. His physique was slight although for his age he had impressive muscle definition. As you can imagine he was the object of a lot of people's eyes even at such a tender age. Although only one girl mattered to Finnick and she had never gazed up at him with wonder in her eyes as he has seen so many others do. _


	2. Working for the Man

_The haul was a long one as it always was when it came to fishing for the demanding power that was the capitol. Finnick was usually on the water for about twelve hours every day. Moreover he hated every minute of it. When he was younger, before he had to brace the world of work, he adored the water. The way the sunlight glimmered making under the water seem magical and mysterious, the way it felt as he pushed his way through it, the purity as it tickled his face. But now the water to him just represented sweat, pain and exhaustion and he hated the capitol for it; they took away the only pleasure he had. Now he didn't see the magic in the water but rather all he saw was his future; fifty years of hauling fish with absolutely nothing he could do about it. _

_It was long tiring, aching work but it was not work that required thought, so Finnick's mind began to wander as an unoccupied mind will. The same name kept flashing through his head. Annie. All he could think of was Annie with her flowing brown hair like a waterfall of melting chocolate and her kind green eyes that always knew what was wrong. She was always so thoughtful and perceptive and she understood. He orbited around her although she never seemed to notice and he treasured the little time he got to spend with her down in their secret cave on the beach. Annie was virtually the only reason he could stomach the idea that he had no control over his life. At least he could marry whoever he wanted. He imagined he could bear fifty gruelling years of fishing if he could spend it with Annie. Alas though his love would always be unrequited, she had shown no signs that she thought of him as anything but a loyal friend. And although that saddened and frustrated him he had come to terms a long time ago that for now that would have to be enough. Right now her fingers were probably aching deeply, thought Finnick, remembering her calloused hands. Annie, just like every child over ten in district four had to work for minimal money providing objects for the capitol. The women wove nets and the men fished. It all seemed very traditional but that was all Finnick had ever known. _

_Not that Finnick agreed with the ways of the capitol. Not at all. Sure, it was all he had ever known but he still had an overwhelming feeling that the way they were treated was not at all right. In fact he was extremely against their ways; he just wasn't allowed to voice his opinion. His world was surrounded by peacekeepers, with propaganda shoved in his face every day, every year he was forced to see his fellow district members and members from other districts die, live on television. But what was he supposed to do? In his mind there was absolutely nothing a young teenager from the heart of district four could do to stop the mighty capitol, so he kept his head down and put up with his life. _

_Anyway if anything he had it better than some districts, he pondered. He had heard all kinds of crazy rumours and horror stories about electric fences, whipping, hangings and mine explosions. Of course, he didn't know if any of these were true but if even half of them were he was far better off where he was. He couldn't bear to live in a district where such cruelty was abundant. The thing was Finnick didn't like confrontation. No doubt he was a good fighter, probably the best of his age but he didn't like the blood and the guilt. He was confident that if he his name was ever drawn out of the dreaded reaping bowl he wouldn't be able to take the revulsion of the games. Just the thought made him feel sick. At least there in district four he was surrounded by beautiful scenery and a reasonably pliant head peacekeeper. _

_He was awoken from deep inside his psyche by an ear-splitting yell; it was time to pull the hand crafted nets up. He took his place, right beside one of his father's friends. He pulled and he pulled, the rope burning savagely at his hands, his muscles felt as if they were about to rip right out of his tanned arms. His head hurt with concentration. But, eventually the haul came in. Finnick let out a breath of exhaustion and relief when his eyes rested on the catch. Finnick got one penny for every fish they caught. He eyes skimmed over the slipper silver bodies. Around 200 he estimated. At least tonight they would eat._


	3. A day to Remember

_**Chapter 3 **_

_The pale boats floated into shore like homing pigeons on their flight inland. As usual the fair beaches were scattered with people waving them in, most of them wives waiting to spend their three remaining hours of precious daylight with their loves. Finnick didn't bother to look, there was never anyone stood patiently upon the golden sands for him. He'd stopped feeling bitter about his lack of greeting a while back. He understood that his parents had to work overtime to put food on their battered table. It didn't bother him too much anymore. Then through the crashing of the sapphire waves he heard a delicate voice shouting. He pricked up his ears. "Finn" the girl said. There was only one person who called him that. Annie. And sure enough when he glanced back at the beach more conscientiously, there she stood; the sun lighting up her hair like a halo. She wore one of her usual worn dresses, this one a faded yellow and he could clearly see the exhaustion behind her magnificent green eyes. Her hand waved gracefully and a big smile covered her face. Seeing this, his face began to mirror hers, beaming with delight. He started to wave his hand enthusiastically. Maybe she did care after all. _

_As soon as the petite boat came anywhere near to the shore, Finnick eagerly hopped over board, placing his hand on the ragged side then springing over. His eyes fixed upon Annie's, she smiled warmly and he walked straight towards her. He noticed she had her fingers wrapped tenderly around a woven wicker basket. Although this was odd he did not question it until later. He began with his usual greeting and soon the pair set into routine like old friends, which of course they were. They started to walk towards their usual spot, not pausing to ask each other where they were going, for they both already knew. The twosome were already talking enthusiastically and rapidly, catching up on each other's days and telling stories. The sound of young, innocent laughter filled the humid air. Finnick could be quite a charismatic and charming person but with Annie he let his guard down. He was just himself, laughing loudly and telling jokes. It felt good to be free. _

_Eventually, they reached the cave. The white rock of the cliff face glowed in the setting sun making the walls appear shades of orange and yellow. The dwelling was small formed by years of erosion from the waves. Each little feature so perfectly created over hundreds of years. The cave was tucked away on the far side of an impressive sand dune. So remote and hidden Finnick doubted anyone else had ever seen it, a fact that only added to the allure of the place. Over the years Finnick and Annie had pulled wedges of fallen rock up to the cave, forming two little chairs and a table. It was his home away from home, better than any grand palace. This place held thousands of happy memories for Finnick, the kind of memories he liked to return to when he was hard at work. Only then when he was safely inside the fissure did he question the basket. "Umm Annie why are you carrying that old basket?" he asked to which Annie replied "Ooh you'll never believe whats in here". Then she began to recount the story. But, in order to understand this story you must first know this simple fact. Annie and Finnick were thieves. Not the kind of thieves who stole for no reason but the kind of deprived children who on an occasion needed to steal from the rich. They considered themselves partners in crime, a factor that only added to their already strong camaraderie. And so Annie began to tell the tale, her voice filling Finnick's head. _

"_I was on my way down to the beachfront, to come and meet you. I was just passing the market when my feet began to hurt. At first I ignored it but then the pain became too much. It's not a short walk y'know, especially when you've been working all day. Anyway, I sat down on a fallen tree. I was just admiring the surroundings when I saw it. Right outside the Richardson household. Well naturally I was going to steal it. It was just too magnificent off a prize. Plus those folk already have enough food to set them for months. Anyway what my eye had caught was an entire picnic basket filled with the most delicious foods you could ever imagine. My eyes caught glimpses of fresh, plump strawberries and thick slices of bread. Some foods I didn't even know the names of. It had been so long since I'd eaten anything other than fish soup or sandfire that my mouth started salivating. So, slowly I crept forward, trying to make it look like I was supposed to be there. I looked tentatively over both of my shoulders, picked the basket up and quickly walked away." "A-a-a feast" Finnick uttered, shocked into absolute silence. Just like Annie it'd been some time since he'd eaten a decent meal. "You betcha" retorted Annie, smiling from ear to ear._

_And then Annie began laying the spectacular array of food out on their makeshift table. Exotic fruits all colours of the rainbow, vegetables that glowed with the essence of health, rashes of pink bacon, small juicy sausages, shiny boiled eggs, fruit juice, crunchy golden biscuits, chunky rich chocolate and, as Annie had promised, fresh plump strawberries and thick slices of bread. Finnick's mouth watered with just the sight of it. It was amazing how something as simple and ordinary as food could make him so joyous. Sitting down, they dug in, the sensational tastes of sweet, sour and savoury flooding Finnick's mouth. He hadn't been this happy in a while. He decided to savour every moment. Silence filled the cave, but it was not awkward. Anything but. The fact was both Annie and Finnick were so overwhelmed by the sight, smell and taste of food that neither of them could bear to stop chewing long enough to talk, instead just slipping each other secret smiles. _

_The truth was Finnick had never experienced such luxury as a full stomach. His small family had never been anything but poor. And now with Noah gone, his family were struggling to keep up with basic needs. But Finnick didn't like to think about that. It filled his head with pessimism and distress. In fact his family had grown to such a state of destitution that on the days where his crew could not catch enough fish Finnick was forced to go out deep into the night with a trident stolen from the tool cupboard and spear fish just so that his family would have something to eat the next day. Sometimes, Annie would join him, picking sandfire and shellfish from the dusty seafloor. _

_Finnick and Annie finished their feast relatively quickly, their pure animalistic instinct to feed had overpowered their intelligence and they hadn't even thought to hoard any. Not that they could take it to their families without admitting thievery. Still, giant smiles filled their faces and their bellies were full for the first time in years. That was a good day . _


	4. A Nightmare come to Life

_**Chapter 4 **_

_Finnick woke up with his gut twisted into a giant knot. Today was reaping day. The vivid images from his nightmares still lingered in his tortured mind. The plaza packed with people staring at him as he slowly walked to the front, the shrill voice of the escort booming his name over the microphone, the sense of dread. It was just a dream, he convinced himself. He wasn't going to be reaped. Still, the fear gripped him tight and wouldn't let go._

_He didn't have to go to work today, he was technically allowed a lie in, not that he could possibly sleep. He stared out of his ashen, crumbling window. Outside, the moon shimmered on the rippling water. The moonlight lit up just enough of the bay that Finnick could make out the little boats and the patch of knotted sea grass where he and Annie usually fished. Finnick pulled on his usual patched beige shorts and warily crept past his parent's bed. He wasn't sure where he was going, just that he wanted to clear his swarming head. Somehow though he ended up at the cave. There he sat for what seemed like hours staring out at the lulling sea. Envy spiked him. How could the sea be so at peace? It clearly did not know the horror that this day represented. It was lucky. He tucked his knees up to his chin, surrounding them with his arms. He had tears in his emerald eyes. He felt so lost. _

_He heard gentle footsteps on the dusty cave floor behind him. "Can't sleep?" It was Annie. "How could I?" He countered. Annie understood. She always did. She had been a part of his life for so long. She knew the pain that was troubling him. She sat down beside him on the light grey rocks pulling him into a sideways hug. They sat there for a while, with Finnick's arm draped over Annie's bony shoulder, watching the sun rise, the beautiful colours of red, orange and yellow streaking the sky. _

"_Noah" Finnick uttered, crying softly. "I know" whispered back Annie. Finnick's brother Noah had been seventeen years old when he was reaped. It was the spark that had started Finnick's hatred of the capitol and of all cruelty. Finnick was heartbroken. He was forced to watch his own brother be turned into a monster right there on his crackling television screen. He was forced to watch his brother suffer, slay and bleed. The 59__th__ annual hunger games were a particularly brutal one. Everyone around him kept telling him they had great faith in his brother. Finnick blocked them out, covering his ears with his broken hands. He didn't want to hear their sympathetic lies. Even now the image flashed before Finnick's eyes. The vision that had tortured him for so long. Behind his closed eyelids he saw the glinting knife go straight through Noah's stomach. He heard him scream out in pain and anguish. He saw him drop to his knees. He saw the blood pouring out like a deranged waterfall. And he saw him die. _

_There he lay curled up on the improvised stone table, comforted just by the sheer presence of Annie, until he had to go. Shakily, he rose. He hugged Annie goodbye and thanked her for being there for him. She watched him leave, a look of fear and consideration playing across her face. And then he took the long walk home. Just him and his thoughts. His parents noticed the tear stains when he entered their abode, but they didn't ask. They already knew. Instead, his mother pulled him into a tight embrace and his father nodded at him, a look of distress and sympathy growing larger in his auburn eyes. Letting go of him, his mother passed him his clothes. A crisp white shirt and black trousers. The same clothes Noah had worn when he had been reaped, his family could afford no more. _

_It would be the first time he'd wore a shirt all summer, he thought to himself as he got dressed, his hands shaking as he struggled with the miniscule buttons on the shirt. His mind starting spiralling out of control, stabbing him with distressing pictures. He hated this day so much. He made his way cautiously down the stairs and walked towards the town square. His vision was blurry and his breathing was irregular. He felt sick. His heart was hammering in his chest. He reached the polished table, gazing up at the peacekeeper. He was wearing an all white suit, with hard armour pads on his shoulders and chest. He had a white helmet on with a black visor on so you couldn't see his eyes, it was quite unnerving. Tucked into his waistband was a potent gun, designed for controlling. Finnick held out his quivering hand. The peacekeeper pricked his finger and a small pool of red blood was stamped onto his data sheet. Then he anxiously went to stand with all the other impeccably dressed 14-year-old boys. _

_The wait was bloodcurdling. He was living his nightmare. Every second counted down to the horror that could ensue. Finally everyone was ready. Rows and rows of heavily tanned children in smart attire. It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Holding his breath, Finnick saw the colossal doors of the justice building open. A man with dyed green hair and a silver suit walked confidently up to microphone. He declared the same speech Finnick had heard three times now. Then he played the usual video, the one which made the capitol seemed like the good guys. Finnick resisted the urge to scream. Then, the man tapped the microphone and started the reaping. First, he swirled his hand round inside the girls reaping bowl, snatching a piece of paper and reading a name Finnick had never heard of. Gazing, he watched a girl of about the age of sixteen precariously walk up to the stage, tears burning in her eyes, her mouth held fixed at a point of discomfort and shock. She almost tripped on the first step; her knees were shaking so much. He felt guilty for feeling glad that it wasn't Annie. The situation was growing too daunting for Finnick as he watched the man dither over which piece of paper to pick. His name was in six times. Finally deciding, the man grabbed the paper and read out in a voice loud and clear "Finnick Odair"._


	5. Come to a close

_**Chapter 5**_

_Annie ran through the doors, her long chocolate hair flowing out behind her. "You get five minutes" the peacekeeper grunted. Annie was already crying but Finnick remained strong. What good would tears do him now? Finnick held her close to him savouring the last moments with her. Now he might never get a chance to be with Annie, he thought solemnly. She was sobbing uncontrollably. Still, she managed to splutter the words out. "I love you" she whispered. It was a spur of the moment thing. Finnick reached down pushing her hair behind her ears and gently kissed her. He could feel her tears running on to his face. He pulled away. "I love you too" he managed to say before Annie was dragged away, still crying, her five minutes up. _

_Finnick felt broken, as if he was still in a dream-state. He couldn't even imagine participating in the Hunger Games let alone winning it. He was doomed. The big oak doors were pushed open once again and in came his tearful parents. His father looked a whole five years older, distress and worry evident on his usually optimistic face. His mother walked slowly towards Finnick and hugged him. Finnick felt awful for them. It was corrupt enough they had to see one child savagely killed, but two? He wasn't sure whether they would be able to handle that sort of agony. It would blow a titanic whole in their simple lives. He had already come to terms with his own death. He knew he wouldn't survive; he wanted to, lord knows he wanted to. He wanted to have a future with Annie, he wanted to live to see his parents again, he didn't even care about the prospects of fifty years of fishing at this point, he just wanted to survive. But he didn't know how. His father joined in on the hug, the three of them wrapped up, encircling each other. His parents said all the usual things, the encouragements and the well-wishes. But, deep in their eyes he could see they were already grieved and sorrowed for as far as they could see it, their son was already gone. His father began to cry. He had only ever seen his father cry twice. When Noah was reaped and when Noah was murdered. He remembered the pained expression on his father's face as he watched Noah die. He didn't want to have to put his parents through that again, but what choice did he have?_

_Finally, his parents too were pulled off him like leeches off of human skin and carried away by the burly peacekeepers. Finnick was all alone. He didn't have time for a colossal break down. Within seconds his escort entered accompanied by his fellow tribute, who he remembered was called Spera. Spera was crying, big fat blue tears running down her bronzed features, much like rain drops falling down a statue. Seeing this Finnick shot her a knowing look. She really was beautiful. Her hair was a profound midnight black, cascading seamlessly over her prudent shoulders down to her hips. In contrast, her eyes were bright cobalt and appeared to shimmer when they caught the light. Her nose was round and small like a little button and her mouth was pursed into a half smile. She was tall for her age, her legs lean and thin, her stomach perfectly flat, her fingers elongated. She stared back at Finnick weakly. The escort continued to talk, motioning his hands enthusiastically, a huge grin plastered across his fake face. Finnick stared at his lime green hair with disgust. How could the capitol think that was attractive? He would never understand. The capitol was an enigma and Finnick had no interest in trying to solve it. And so Spera, Finnick and the escort, whose name Finnick couldn't really give a damn about, left the justice building and set off on the journey that could only end in fatality for at least one of them. _


	6. A new beginning

_**Chapter 6**_

_Finnick's mouth hung open with utter astonishment. It was a train, a real life train. The vehicle resembled the shape of a silver bullet, it was incredibly long, stretching as far as the eye could see. To Finnick, it looked like it belonged in an era thousands of years into the future. Finnick turned his head, Spera seemed as equally shocked as he was. Her eyes were lit up with delight. The escort didn't seem fazed by the beauty of the machinery; instead he just stepped up, motioning encouragingly with his hand for Finnick and Spera to follow. Finnick was still trying to cope with his surroundings when he entered the inside of the carriage. It was even more spectacular than the outside, thick brown carpet covered the floor, on top of which were snug, blue sofas with brightly coloured pillows that seemed to invite you to sit down. On the walls hung golden candlesticks, pale wax dripping down the edges much like icicles over a cliff face. A giant crystal chandelier hung in the centre of the carriage, the light reflecting off of it making the whole coach sparkle and glisten. In front of the sofas lay a coloured, widescreen television, easily ten times as big as the one in Finnick's humble abode. Behind the sofas was the longest table Finnick had ever seen in his whole life. It appeared to be made of solid ebony. There was easily room for forty people, if not more and every single place was set with the finest silver forks, knives and spoons. In centre of this table lay a whole feast worth of food, capitol food. Little blue and green sweets that oozed when you bit into them, miniature cupcakes that dissolved in your mouth, hearty soup that melted on your tongue, fruits every colour imaginable, shiny apples that performed a firework show in your mouth. Food stretched out all the way down the table, it was one of the most beautiful things Finnick had ever seen. Finnick's mouth began to water. He had to remind himself why he was there, about his feelings towards the capitol, but it was still hard to draw his eyes away._

_Sitting at one of the many places at the elongated table was an old woman. She had long grey hair that waved slightly as it poured down her back, and when she looked up at them her eyes were a piercing blue. She gave them a weak smile, her face creasing. Finnick recognised her immediately. She had been one of the original victors, and had mentored ever since. Of course, he'd never met her before; they had led such different lives. She had spent her entire life residing in the victor's village with all the food she could ever have needed whereas he had spent his days working and starving. Still, there was a sort of warmth and friendliness that radiated off of her. He decided that he liked her. As she stared at them, she slowly mixed her soup with a silver spoon. "This is your mentor" exclaimed the escort with rather too much enthusiasm and excitement for such an occasion. "Hello, I am Margaret, but you can call me Mags. And what are your names?" Mags asked, her accent posh and distinguished. Spera gently whispered her name and so did Finnick. "Finn is it?" Mags asked, lilting her head towards Finnick slightly. "No, it's Finnick" Finnick retorted rather boldly, only Annie had ever called him Finn and he wanted to keep it that way. "Well, it's nice to meet you" Mags declared, returning to spooning her soup into her mouth. _

_The escort, whose name Finnick finally learnt was Cornelius, set them some pristine plates out and pushed them to 'eat a good meal' and 'get some meat on their bones'. Although Finnick had immediately taken hatred towards Neil, he was starving and the food did look heavenly. And so, he took a seat, grabbing what looked like cucumber sandwiches off a stand. Spera sat down beside him and did the same; even if they were starving it would do good to remember their manners. He placed the sandwich delicately into his mouth, and immediately the flavours began dancing around on his tongue; crisp cucumber, paired with slightly sweet, substantial bread. Finnick didn't think he could ever get used to capitol cuisine, it was such a far stretch from his usual diet. _

_After him and Spera had devoured as much as they possibly could without throwing it back up again, two waitresses showed them to their rooms. They passed through carriage after carriage, each one as aristocratic as the last. The hallways were a deep red, with small lights fitted upon the walls to provide light. On their left hand side were shiny brown doors with golden numbers upon them. Finnick was astounded by the beauty and he felt sincerely happy. But, his heart sunk when he remembered why they were there. Spera stayed silent but Finnick attempted to make conversation with the waitresses. It wasn't until they didn't respond that he realised they were avoxes. Their tongues had been savagely ripped from their mouths by the capitol. His hate burned like a furnace in his stomach. He was reminded of the bitter sweetness of this whole affair, of the tyrant that the capitol really was, giving them a taste of luxury before brutally murdering them. Finnick began to feel a sickness swell in his throat. It was disgusting. _

_Finally, the servers and Finnick reached his room. It was located just next to Spera's, down the hall from Mags' and Neil's. With a nod of thanks towards the avoxes he swung open his heavy bedroom door. The sight that met his eyes really was something to ride home about. There was his very own sofa. It was a rich deep brown colour with seats that pulled out so you could rest your feet. Opposite this haven was a humongous television set, completed with a set of remotes. A small fridge stood in the corner and when Finnick swung open the door he saw that it was bursting with scrumptious food. In the centre of this masterpiece was an enormous four-poster bed with plump pillows and a velvet duvet. Unable to contain himself, Finnick ran and hurled himself onto the bed, the unbelievable softness encompassing him as he landed. _

_He was sure that it would have been the best night of sleep he'd ever had, if it hadn't been for the exceedingly realistic nightmares that had haunted him all night. He woke up every hour, panting hard, with sweat running down his forehead. At this rate he'd die of anxiety and stress before he even made it to the games. Suddenly, Finnick heard a loud knock at his door; he jumped out of his skin. Who could be knocking at this time? He pondered. His mind flashed through images of the grim reaper standing at his door waiting to crush his throat with his dark hands. But alas, this was not the case. It was Spera at the door. "Have you seen it yet?" She uttered. "What?" Finnick replied groggily. "The capitol" said Spera pointing a shaking finger towards the small porthole window. Finnick crept over, lightly treading so as not to wake anyone up. Slowly he grabbed the edge of the window and, standing on tiptoe he peered out of the window. There it was; the city of nightmares. _


	7. A Whole New World

_**If you are reading this, thank you :) Please leave any suggestions or constructive critisiscm in the reviews. Please don't shy away, if there's something I can do better, I want to know. Thanks :) **_

_**Chapter Seven**_

_The train pulled into the station without as much as a jolt, which was surprising considering it just fell from two hundred and fifty miles an hour to zero in less than a second. The sound of joyous shouts and chants encircled Finnick, pounding at his eardrums. He felt exceptionally claustrophobic and very much trapped. Heart hammering, Finnick crept over to the small, porthole window, there were thousands of people, stretching as far as the eye could see. As soon as they saw his face they screamed with delight and anticipation. He felt like he should wave, but he resisted it, he was not their monkey. They were all dressed in flamboyant colours making the arrangement look like a spillage in a smartie factory. There were headdresses, golden like the sun, dyed skins, hair styles that were practically works of art, shoes so high that the occupants towered over everyone else. Finnick was astounded; it was a lot to take in. They we're all there. For him. _

_Slowly and precariously he stepped onto the platform edge, terrified he'd fall down the gap into oblivion. Finnick had never been to a train station before. The avoxes joined Finnick and his entourage, parting the crowds silently, as Finnick supposed every action was for them. As he shuffled through the never-ending crowd Finnick kept hearing cries of "What a beautiful boy" "He's got the face of an angel" and "There's no doubt he'll grow up to break hearts" Grow up? Grow up? Finnick screamed internally. Finnick had come here to die, not grow up._

_This whole affair made him sick to the stomach. Here all these people were, cheering him on, swooning over him and yet they were all prepared to see him be brutally murdered on their screens. They probably wouldn't even cry, thought Finnick the anger bubbling inside of him. Calm down, he told himself, a volcanic eruption of emotion would not help his odds. That was if he had any odds. He was only fourteen for god's sake. Nobody under sixteen had ever won the hunger games before. Finnick did not feel like the one to be able to break that record. He was a dead man walking, and he knew that._

_Finnick, Spera, Mags and Neil finally reached the building they would be staying in. It was incredibly tall, made of a sort-of metal material that Finnick couldn't quite identify. Trees surrounded the place like guards, protecting the building from all harm. It was a rather odd feat of architecture. There was a beauty there that Finnick couldn't quite put his finger on. Neil walked towards an intricate keypad, situated on the clear glass door and, without hesitation, keyed in a code that was easily thirty letters long. The great glass doors swung open, inviting Finnick to his doom. _

_They rode in the great glass elevator together. It was awkward; it was silent, as elevator journeys tend to be when you're riding to almost certain death. Finnick looked around at the thousands of buttons that lined the walls, wondering where they all led to, and whether he would have a better chance there. Finally, the bell rung and a women's voice rang out "Floor four" with absolutely no hint of human emotion. _

_Finnick stepped out. The sight that greeted him really was awe-inspiring, capitol or no capitol. Each room was a firework display, bursting with colour. Bright yellow chairs, deep red sofas, ocean blue tables, glimmering chandeliers. There was too much for Finnick's mind to process. He just stood there gaping, which seemed to be becoming a habit of his. _

_Even more avoxes stood by the elevator; waiting to lead them to their bedrooms. They were dressed smartly, in white and black suits, a white cloth over the arms, their hair cut short and unadorned, wearing a blank expression on their faces. If they smiled or showed any emotion you might notice they were there and then they'd lose all function and purpose. With a nod and a smile (that was not returned) Finnick and Spera followed their designated Avox. He could see the man fighting the urge to yawn. He hated the capitol for stripping the rights of these people, they should be allowed to yawn, why weren't they allowed to yawn? It seemed like such a simple thing but Finnick bet you'd miss it when you no longer had the right to yawn freely. "Go ahead." exclaimed Finnick "Yawn. I'm not going to tell anybody" The avox stared at him, a grateful expression in his eyes and opened up his mouth into a big wide yawn. Finnick could see where the capitol had savagely ripped the tongue from the man's mouth, the jagged line still remained where the tongue used to be. Finnick saw lines of scars on the man's cheeks, clearly he had been a fighter. Finnick's mind began to run. What did the man do to deserve this? He supposed. Probably nothing more than stealing a loaf of bread or standing up against a capitol enthusiast and yet here he was banished to the depths of eternal silence._

_Finnick thought about this all the way to his room, growing more and more unstable as he went. When Finnick and the avox ultimately reached the bright red door with the heavy brass knocker that was Finnick's room, the avox turned to go. Finnick grabbed onto his arm, spinning him around. "Wait" he exclaimed, moving his hands to his neck, removing his one and only possession, a locket. "Have this". The avox looked so overjoyed; clearly he was not used to being treated like a human. A smile lit up his face, beaming from ear to ear. Finnick couldn't help but smile back, it was contagious. Still smiling, he entered his room and collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted to even contemplate looking around. _


	8. Doomsday Parade

_**Thank you for reading this. And thanks to megansalvatoreox for her continued suppourt. At the moment I'm not really sure what the majority of you think about this story. Whether you like it or not so it would be a great help to get some feedback. If you have any suggestions also please don't be afraid to say. Thanks again for reading and please review! **_

**Chapter 8**

It was the tribute parade. The hall buzzed with an excitement, the chattering voices of the capitol drifting back stage to where Finnick was sat. The crowd was a sea of colour, each outfit more vibrant and outrageous than the last. The anxiety nipped at Finnick's stomach like a little dog, not painful exactly, but worrisome all the same. Finnick looked out at the path he would soon take. The confetti fell upon the road like snow on a winter's eve. Up above he saw giant posters, depicting himself and his fellow tributes, the pictures were moving. Finnick glared down the row of the fake smiles and made-up faces. Couldn't anybody see that that happiness was just a facade? That under all that makeup they were just terrified little children? The smell of buttery popcorn hit Finnick, making his stomach turn. It really was just entertainment for these murderous dictators wasn't it? He thought.

Finnick stared down at his own outfit. He was dressed as a fisherman. Big, green wellingtons covered his legs all the way up to his knees; the boots were paired with canvas trousers of a dark blue colour. On his top half hung a cotton blue top, paired with a water-proof black jacket. Grumbling, he pulled his green fisherman's hat on, he looked ridiculous. His stylist wasn't too happy about the look either; he had wanted Finnick to wear something a bit more revealing. But Finnick was underage, so the fisherman's outfit would have to do. On Finnick's left stood Spera, in an outfit identical to his. Finnick caught Spera's eyes and they exchanged weak smiles. They weren't friends exactly, Finnick wasn't ready to become close to anyone who he would have to stab in the back, literally.

The carriage pulled up. It was pulled by two fair grey horses, each with a dapple of white spots coating their backs. Finnick was transfixed. He had never seen such beasts before in his life. The elegance struck him, they held their heads high, he thought, an air of fearlessness radiated from them. Finnick slowly walked round so that he was facing the horses, he didn't know these creatures. Their beauty could just as easily be masking a malicious monster inside. But, to Finnick's relief they weren't, they let him pet them, his hands stroking over their velvety soft coat. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something. There, on the top of the counter was a bowl of sugar cubes. He stared at them, he'd never tasted pure sugar, and he was curious. He strode over to the bowl. He had just popped one into his mouth, causing it to water, when he heard a small voice behind him. "There for the horses y'know" said Spera. "They love those things, can't get enough of them." Finnick wondered why Spera knew anything about these animals she'd called horses, giving that she grew up in district four, but he didn't ask, he didn't like to pry.

With the bowl still clutched between his fingertips, Finnick ambled back over to where the beautiful creatures stood. He wasn't sure how you were supposed to feed horses. You couldn't throw it into their mouths, he figured, so instead he placed the crystallised sugar cube flat on the palm of his hands, holding it nervously out towards the horse's mouth. The horse gobbled up the sugar in one clean bite, tickling Finnick's palm with its tongue. Finnick laughed, forgetting about the games, content in that moment with something as simple as a sugar cube.

He stayed with the horses for a while, they amused him, took his mind off things. But before long he felt a tap on his shoulder. "It's time to go" whispered Spera in her usual melancholy way. Finnick gave the horse's one last stroke on the nose each and then turned away, climbing steadily into the back of the cart. Finnick breathed heavily, he was not used to large crowds, they set him on edge a little. All those eyes boring into him as if looking into his soul, instantly making judgements about him based on his looks alone. He didn't like the thought. The horses pulled forwardly softly, dragging the cart along behind it. It was the smoothest ride Finnick had ever been on, he was used to bobbing boats curving over rough seas, to him a horse-drawn cart felt like smooth caramel.

The curtains opened and out came the tributes. First was district one, they were dressed all in a vibrant pink, next was district two and then three until finally it was district four's turn. Finnick's stomach fluttered, he felt like he had a thousand butterflies flying around in his stomach. But, he knew what he had to do. Grabbing Spera's hand, he forced what he hoped was a happy smile, holding their hands together high. This caused the crowd to explode, sounds of whoops and cheers bursting Finnick's eardrums. Despite his nerves, the crowd gave Finnick a rush of adrenaline. It wasn't every day you were faced with thousands of people adorning on you. Finnick was aware that for him to triumph, he needed sponsors, and to get sponsors he needed to win people over, that had become his latest mission.

After all the tributes had rode through, being greeted by the eager folks of the capitol, the carts pulled up in a semi-circle waiting to be addressed by the president. The crowd hushed to a silence, it was so quiet it was almost eerie. The president stepped up, his footsteps echoing around the hall. When he reached the podium, he set his hands upon the sides of the stone, as if leaning on it for comfort. His hair was a dark, greasy brown although at the temples Finnick could see a hint of white creeping forward. The hair stretched round his round face, forming a beard upon his pointed chin. He was dressed smartly in a crisp white shirt and a black jacket. Finnick caught an air of arrogance and blood thirst wafting from his direction. This didn't look like a man who had any problem with murdering children. Which Finnick guessed was why he was so good at his job. "Capitol." he stated, his voice dry and drawling. "Let us welcome our guests." With that a round of applause went up. "The tributes are here" said Snow, cutting off the clapping with a harsh tone. "As a reminder that with rebellion comes a price. The hunger games bring us closer together with our districts as we share our grief and as we share our sacrifice. Tributes, we sincerely hope you enjoy your stay." exclaimed Snow, not even a hint of sarcasm evident in his tones. "And a happy 65th Hunger Games to all!" with that the cheers erupted like an unstable volcano and confetti poured down like lava. Finnick was finding it increasingly hard to control his anger. He needed Annie; she was the only one who could ever return him from his dark place.


	9. A Match Made in Heaven

_**I'm sorry this is short. But I have a lot of school stuff going on at the moment. I'm also sorry it's late but I got a tiny bit distracted by other fanfics. Please, please, please review so I know what you think! Enjoy! :)**_

* * *

_**Chapter 9**_

_The elevator doors opened. A world presented itself to Finnick. The room was colossal; the walls seemed a never ending blur. Like the ocean, it stretched as far as the eye can see. It was painted a very sanitary and boring shade of pale blue, reminding Finnick of the tiny district four hospital, which due to an extreme lack of resources, couldn't even really call itself a hospital. On the walls hung shining metal grids and suspended upon the grids were a vast array of weapons, sparkling with an edge of danger. Piercing knives in one corner, deadly spears in the other, then an arrangement of bows, mace's, clubs, axes and more weapons that Finnick had never before laid eyes upon. Just from a quick glance, Finnick could see that danger littered the room, lurking in every corner, like a monster waiting to pounce. Not only were there weapons but there were also assault courses and survival classes. Pictures of all different sorts of leaves and plants were being projected onto the walls; it was technology far beyond what Finnick had ever seen. Finnick glanced above. Hanging over the room, watching like a hawk in the sky, was a balcony. The bright orange lights and extravagant colours contrasted with the tedious, dull walls of the training room. It was a slice of heaven in the deepest, darkest depths of hell, except the reality was much more twisted. The heavenly glow beaming down from the balcony was a facade. What seemed like a beacon of hope in this long-lost world was really the thing that was squeezing the life out of everyone in this room, a hellish beast that enjoyed hearing their last rasp-filled breaths. Finnick heard a tinkle of laughter escape from up there in the gods. A spike of envy stabbed him in the stomach like a dagger. What he would do to be up there. He'd trade being a dead boy walking for a hellish but safe beast any day. Finnick felt his back tense, his muscles rigid as a hand tapped him. Turning his head round, he saw Neil pushing him. It was time. He stepped into the room._

_He didn't know where to go. Tilting his head to subtly look at Spera he saw the same confused look dazzling in her eyes, she didn't know which area to head to either. The lights glowed bright, distracting him from his purpose, making his head pound with anxiety. He suddenly felt very, very small as if he was shrinking into the floor. He didn't belong here. He wasn't old enough, surely? He took in the size and pure stature of his competitors; some looked like they killed people for pleasure. Most of them towered far above Finnick, his head level with their beefy, well-built chests. He saw his fellow tributes fight; their weapons extensions of their own ripped arms. He stood there, mesmerised as they hit the jackpot time, after time, after time. For a while, he lingered, feeling like a panning camera getting a full shot of the noxious training room. He was so struck by anxiety and fear and awe and dread that he didn't even notice when Spera drifted away, her movement slow and delicate like a petal in the wind. _

_Finally, Finnick's eyes fell upon something familiar in this brand new world. There, stood gleaming against the uninspiring wall was a row of tridents: his saviour. Hesitantly Finnick strode over, hoping to exude confidence. He plucked a shining trident off of the wall, his hand moulding to its shape like it was born to be that way. Suddenly he felt stronger, faster and more powerful. He felt invincible. He pulled his arm back, keeping his muscles tense and steady. He breathed in, his chest rising dramatically. He aimed at the target like he had so often done with the devious fish. He released at a perfect right angle and the trident soared through the air, hitting the target dead on and staying there, dug into the wood by the sheer power of his throw. He turned around. Faces greeted him; their mouths hung open with shock, their eyes displaying their awe. He simply smiled and nodded, sauntering off, a little bounce of confidence in his step. _


	10. Judgement Day

_**If your reading this thank you very much! And a special thank you to megansalvatoreox, semmi and churchthecat for reviewing :)**_

_**Chapter 10**_

Eyes bored into Finnick with careful admiration and jealousy as he tied his knots, the rope fraying beneath his calloused hands. Finnick however, failed to notice, the feel of the woven rope on his fingertips taking him back to a girl who wore a smile from ear to ear.

When he picked up that trident, Finnick had thought that proving himself was the best idea in the world, the only way to wipe the condescending smirk of his enemies' faces. Now, he was not so sure. Yes, people were envious of him and wanted him to join their team, but was this really a tactical move? Should he have played the mysterious, weak one and then struck last minute? The questions circled Finnick's head, distracting him from his looming fears. Suddenly, the games seemed very real indeed. Back when the golden trident had smashed the board, Finnick had felt pride and hope swell inside of him. But, with the rush of the moment gone he had to remind himself; Hope was a dangerous thing, watching his parents' faces whilst the life seeped from his brother's bones had taught him that. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it, he chanted to himself inside his head; the less self-esteem the better. He remained focused on his knots.

And there he stayed, learning skills that not only might save his life but also brought him closer to home and triggered memories, the visions swirling round his head like water down a sink. It was appropriate, Finnick thought, people always said that your life flashed before your eyes before you died. And that's what he was preparing for, right? Imminent death. He was awakened from deep inside his psyche by a tap on the shoulder. It was Spera and it was time to go.

* * *

From then on Finnick kept his head down, refusing to put on a show for the bloodthirsty beasts. He showed up every day to training and took his spot, tying knots, his heart being tugged along with the rope. He missed Annie. He reviewed his tragic situation over and over again. How he had waited years for his relationship to grow and blossom, waiting for a sign, and how that sign had been dumped onto him with the power of a truck, only when he had been sentenced to death. He analysed his situation until his head hurt. Did Annie just feel sorry for him? Or did she really love him? Would things be the same if he won? Would he have changed? Would Annie cry seeing him be murdered? The questions ran on and on in an everlasting circle.

For a week his life became a cycle of stares, whispers and knots; until the day of the assessment.

* * *

Finnick sat on the hard bench, dressed up in his tight fitting training suit, his palms clammy and his pulse raised. Being a male tribute from district four he was seventh in line. He sat there for thirty minutes, the longest thirty minutes of his life; the only thing breaking the stony silence, the door swinging shut, enclosing another child in hell. And then it was his turn to enter the fiery den.

Finnick walked in. The room was dark, lit only moderately by small lamps that coated the walls. Finnick had lived in this training room for the past week but it still felt unfamiliar to him. It seemed bigger without the tributes, lonelier and more fearsome. The lights from the balcony shone orange, breaking up the melancholy deep blue of the room. The capitols sat up there as usual, their smiling faces holding no sympathy for the situation they had put him in. All eyes were on him. Slowly, he shuffled towards the tridents, willing himself not to trip. With the room feeling so much bigger, he felt smaller than ever. His hand pressed against the cool and refreshing metal of the trident as he held it tight in his grip. He smiled, his hand knew what to do, this was territory he had walked a thousand times. Standing straight, he took a running throw, releasing the weapon as he closed his eyes. He heard noises of appreciation from the Gods. He opened his eyes, and seeing that the trident had hit the jackpot, he let out a sigh of deep relief, a smile lighting up his face. He took a small and sheepish bow before training his eyes to the ground and quickly scurrying away. Now all he could do was wait.

* * *

He and Spera sat side by side, their backs cradled by the soft pillows, their bodies encompassed by the warm sofa, and their hearts pounding. To the right of Finnick sat Mags, curled up somewhat unprofessionally, in a sofa chair that to Finnick's upmost delight, span. Despite her age, she wore denim jeans, with a flowing white blouse that had been tucked in all day but now, due to the process of relaxation, was untucked. Her light grey hair tumbled down onto her shoulders, waving slightly. Finnick was struck by her evident beauty, hidden between the cracks of her aging skin. Neil and the stylists also sat in the living room, making up the whole district four team. With a flash, the TV started, the usual propaganda filling everyone's heads, wriggling its way deep into their brains.

Finnick could hardly hear the presenters babble over his heart pounding. Hope is a dangerous thing, he muttered under his breath over and over. The training scores began.

11/12 for Miles from District 1

9/12 for Bellus from District 1

8/12 for Lucifer from District 2

9/12 for Ferox from District 2

4/12 for Acer from District 3

6/12 for Dolor from District 3

It was time. "Finnick from District Four" the commentator called out in an aggressively cheery and upbeat voice. "With a score of ten" Finnick let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. His score was high. Through his elation, he heard the faint voices of "congratulations" and "well done" from his team. He tried hard to quell his hope, opting instead to focus his eyes back on the screen, just in time to see Spera receive a six. He wondered what she had done.

* * *

That night, the team celebrated Finnick's results with a banquet. Finnick stuffed himself with foods of all colours of the rainbow, got dressed, brushed his teeth and collapsed into bed. But, sleep continued to escape him. His mind was too cramped, still hyped from his elation and still full with excruciating memories of Annie. He sat up for hours; his thoughts turning darker and darker until he noticed a small, grey remote perched on the side of his bedside table. Filled with curiosity, he reached out his hand, grabbing it. It was cool against his sweaty palm. He pressed a button shaped like an arrow. Suddenly, what he had assumed was a authentic view changed; from overlooking the vast and daunting city of the capitol, to a desert, the sand a deep and murky yellow, stretching as far as the eye could see. He disliked this view even more; it filled him with lingering depression. His inquisitiveness increasing, he pressed the arrow again and again until he found a view that tugged at his heart. The clear blue waves splashed against the golden sands, in the distance Finnick could see pure white cliffs, complete with tufts of grass sticking out from the crevices. Sneaky little bits of sea grass stuck their heads out of the ocean, as if spying on the rest of the world. Finnick was home. He lay back down, the view filling his head with memories; Annie's crooked smile, the grains of sand between his feet, a little white cave, Annie skipping carefree, Annie's laughter as light and as beautiful as bells. Before he knew it he was asleep, dreaming of home, the light crash of the waves filling his ears.

_**So what did you think? **_


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